


every walk that i've ever taken has been in your direction

by folignos



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2780537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny puts his free hand over Claude's and pries his wrist loose. He pushes at Claude's shoulder gently, and he goes with it, pliant, kicking the sheets away.</p><p>Danny moves away before he gives in to the urge to brush Claude's curls out of his face. 'Goodnight, Claude,' he says on, flipping the light off and heading down the hall to his own room.</p><p>[Or, five times Danny left, and one time he came back.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	every walk that i've ever taken has been in your direction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brandonsaad (createadisaster)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/createadisaster/gifts).



> part one of a nine part holiday present for my babe jenna. all the parts are unconnected, different ships, etc etc. one per day until december 24th.
> 
> i'm pretty sure this whole fic is aaron's fault, actually, so take it up with him
> 
> title from the civil twilight song of the same name
> 
> come find me on [tumblr](http://toewses.tumblr.com) for more hockey hijinks!

'Danny. Daaaaaaanny.' Claude's listing sideways, and his breath is hot on Danny's ear. He's close enough that Danny can feel the line of heat pressed up against his side.

'What?' He's speaking French, always does when he's been drinking and is around other Francos. He hates speaking English when he's tired or drunk, finds it so much harder to fight through the sentences.

'I really like living with you,' Claude says, and then giggles and mashes his nose into the side of Danny's head.

'And I think that's enough for you tonight,' Danny says, ducking under his shoulder and standing up. Claude is heavy sober, and seems to put on about thirty pounds when he's drunk, all loose, long limbs. 'I'm gonna take the kid home,' he says, switching to English for the benefit of the team, who jeer, but move aside to let him shuffle out.

Claude is still leaning against him in the cab home. He's so warm all the time, Danny's noticed, radiates heat even when there's six inches of snow on the ground. He glances up in the rear view mirror and catches the cab driver watching them. Danny rolls his eyes and grins, self sacrificingly. 'You know what kids are like these days,' he says, but he suspects by the way the cab driver arches his eyebrows just slightly that he doesn't believe him.

It wouldn't be the first time someone thought that he and Claude were together.

Claude's clingy when he drinks, too, looping his fingers through Danny's belt loops and draping himself over Danny's back as he tries to open the door one handed, hooking his chin over Danny's shoulder.

Danny scolds him absent mindedly as he forces his way through the front door, which still sticks in the winter, and coaxes him upstairs to his room. 'Come on, Claude,' he murmurs, when he pushes him towards the bed gently.

'Noooo,' Claude says, drawing the word out. His hand is curled around Danny's wrist easily, and he's tugging Danny with him.

'Claude, cher,' Danny says, the word slipping out as easily as it does when he talks to his kids. Claude doesn't seem to notice. He's sitting on the edge of the bed now, with big wide eyes looking up at Danny. His pupils are dilated from the beer. At least, Danny tells himself it's from the beer.

Danny puts his free hand over Claude's and pries his wrist loose. He pushes at Claude's shoulder gently, and he goes with it, pliant, kicking the sheets away.

Danny moves away before he gives in to the urge to brush Claude's curls out of his face. 'Goodnight, Claude,' he says on, flipping the light off and heading down the hall to his own room.

-

The sweat is still cooling on Claude's back when Danny leaves.

He pulls his pants back on almost silently. Claude doesn't stir at the rustle of fabric.

In the dull light of the room, Danny can see the outline of the livid red bitemark in the meat of Claude's shoulder.

He buttons his shirt, tucks his tie into his pocket, and slides his suit jacket back on. His body aches from first the game and then from Claude.

He washes his face in the bathroom, combs his fingers through his hair, newly short, and looks at himself in the mirror. The light from the bathroom slips through the partially closed door and leaves a pale slice of skin across Claude's back.

If Danny was closer, he'd be able to see the freckles scattered across Claude's back and shoulders like ink.

He presses a kiss to Claude's cheek before he leaves, clicking the door shut behind him, and returning to his own, empty, cold hotel room.

-

'Don't.'

Claude's pink with anger. Danny's trying to stay calm.

'Don't lie to me,' Claude says. 'And don't fucking pretend this never happened.' He's speaking English. The words are ugly and harsh as he spits them out.

'Of course it happened,' Danny says. His voice is carefully, carefully even. It just seems to make Claude angrier.

'It just can't happen again,' Claude says, repeating Danny's words from earlier.

Danny takes a breath. 'No,' he says.

'Why not?' Claude demands. Danny is suddenly, brutally reminded of how young he is.

Danny drops his gaze. He's been shredding a paper towel into strips for the last few minutes, and they're falling into a pile on the kitchen table.

'Because you're twenty two years old, Claude,' Danny says. His voice is tight, like Claude's jaw.

'My age didn't mean shit when you were fucking me,' he says, cold.

'Claude,' Danny starts, and then stops. Claude's hands are gripping the kitchen counter tight enough to turn his knuckles white. 'I should go,' he says, then. Claude's gaze flicks up at him from where he was staring at his hands.

'You're good at that,' he says.

Danny's face heats. 'Right,' he says, and leaves.

He sits in his car outside for a long time.

-

(‘I’m sorry,’ Danny says.

Claude flinches from where he’s hunched over the kitchen table. That pile of shredded paper is still sitting there.

‘I have three kids,’ Danny says, ‘all under the age of thirteen.’

‘I know,’ Claude says, turning to look at him slowly.

‘That’s a dealbreaker for a lot of people,’ Danny says. He stays in the door of the kitchen.

Claude frowns, like he isn’t sure what Danny is saying. ‘You said--’ he starts, accusing.

‘I know what I said.’

Claude looks like he’s thinking hard. ‘I want you,’ he says, bold. Danny’s face heats, just a little. ‘And you want me,’ Claude continues, with the arrogance of a twenty two year old who think he knows how the world works.

Danny looks at his feet. ‘Yes,’ he says, eventually.

When he looks back up, Claude looks hopeful. ‘So why can’t we?’

Because you’re young and I’m old, Danny doesn’t say. Because I was divorced at thirty and you have your whole life to live. Because you’ll eventually find someone better.

‘I don’t know,’ he says, eventually.

Claude moves closer, close enough to reach out for Danny. He presses their foreheads together. ‘I want to try,’ he says, barely above a whisper. ‘Please.’

Danny closes his eyes. He can feel Claude’s breath, warm on his skin. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Okay.’

Claude’s smiling when he kisses him, soft and chaste.)

-

Claude's napping when Danny gets the news, snoring gently on the sofa.

Danny wakes him up with a hand on the small of his back, smiles down at him softly. Claude squints up at him, confused.

'Wha' time issit,' he mumbles, tries to bury his face in the couch cushions again.

Danny shakes him gently, presses a kiss to the soft skin behind his earlobe. 'You need to wake up, cher,' he says.

Claude's cheeks are bare, still freshly shaved from their playoff exit. Danny runs his thumb across Claude's cheekbone lightly.

'The Flyers bought me out,' Danny says. He knows it's not fair to drop it on Claude like this, when he's barely awake, still blinking up at him and smiling like Danny's the sun.

'I,' Claude starts. '...What?'

'I'm sorry,' Danny says. 'I just got off the phone with Pat.'

Claude sits up. Danny lowers himself to the sofa next to him.

‘So… what happens?’ he asks. Danny presses up close to him, buries a hand in the thick red curls at the bottom of his skull.

‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘There are teams that are interested, Pat says. I guess… I’ll go to one of them.’

Claude is quiet for a long time. ‘What about us?’ he asks, suddenly.

‘I’m gonna keep my house, here,’ Danny says. ‘The kids are in school. I’ll be here for the offseason.’ He pulls Claude in closer. ‘I’m not leaving,’ he says, quiet.

‘Yes, you are,’ Claude says. He doesn’t sound angry. Just.

Resigned, Danny guesses.

‘Not forever,’ Danny says.

Claude doesn’t say anything to that. Then he says, ‘What teams are asking?’

‘Montreal,’ Danny says. ‘Buffalo. Ottawa. New York.’

Claude reaches out, tucks Danny’s hand into his own. ‘You should go to Montreal.’

‘But New York is closer,’ Danny says. ‘Richie says he knows where I can get an apartment, and I can see you and the kids every week.’

‘Montreal is home,’ Claude says. ‘Besides, you need to brush up on your French,’ he says, giving him a lopsided smile. His thumb is running up and down the side of Danny’s forefinger.

Danny smiles back, calls him a brat, and brings their joined hands up to press a kiss to the back of Claude’s hand.

His phone rings again suddenly. ‘It’s Pat,’ he says, and has to unwind from Claude.

‘Tell him Montreal,’ Claude says. ‘It’s okay.’

‘I love you,’ Danny says, softly, in French, before he stands up, answers his phone, clears his throat.

He takes the call into the kitchen, and shuts the door quietly.

-

Danny’s phone rings again as soon as he hangs up.

‘Colorado,’ Claude says. ‘ _Colorado_.’

‘I didn’t get a choice,’ Danny says. ‘Wait… how do you know? I just told the kids, it’s not even official yet.’

Silence, and then, ‘Cameron called me.’

Danny sighs.

‘I was going to call you,’ he says, and then pauses for a long time.

‘Are you still there?’ Claude asks.

‘Colorado is a long way away from Philly,’ Danny says, carefully.

‘We’ll make it work,’ Claude says immediately. He always was good at picking up on what Danny wasn’t saying.

Danny chews on his lower lip. Claude says his name, soft.

‘I don’t know if we can,’ Danny says.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Claude warns him.

‘I’m--’ Danny starts, but he’s interrupted.

‘Don’t apologise,’ Claude says. ‘Don’t you apologise. If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t have to apologise in the first place.’

‘What do you want from me, Claude?’ Danny asks. ‘You want to continue a relationship with someone you haven’t seen in months? You want to pretend that we don’t fight at least as often as we fuck? You want to spend at least the next year conducting a relationship through a laptop screen?’

‘I want you,’ Claude says, brutally, painfully honest, as always.

‘We can’t do this anymore,’ Danny says, and sucks in a slow breath.

The line goes silent.

‘You’re quitting?’ Claude says. He sounds very young. Danny closes his eyes. His head is pillowed on his free hand.

‘I’m too old, Claude,’ Danny says. ‘Too old for you, too old for… all of this.’

‘Fuck, Danny, I thought you’d gotten past that. I don’t care how old you are. I don’t care where you are. I just care about you.’

‘It’s been… nice,’ Danny says. ‘Good. Fun. But this has been coming for a long time, I think.’

‘Fuck you,’ Claude says. His voice is tight, cold. Danny wishes that was something new.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says finally.

Claude hangs up.

Danny doesn’t call back.

-

‘Why are you calling me?’

Danny pauses. ‘You still have my number?’

‘Why are you calling, Danny?’

Claude sounds exhausted. Playoffs will do that. A Conference Final will make it worse.

‘My contract with the Avs isn’t being extended.’

Claude is silent.

Danny worries the dry skin on his lips. He hasn’t said it out loud to anyone yet.

‘I’m retiring.’

‘Danny...’

‘I decided months ago, I think,’ Danny says, talking over him. ‘After that tenth straight game where I was a healthy scratch. Anyway. I’m coming home.’

‘Home?’ Claude sounds a little dazed. Danny wishes more than anything that he wasn’t having this conversation over the phone.

‘To Philly. Well. To Jersey. To be with the boys.’ He pauses, takes a deep breath, and jumps in with both feet. ‘It would be good to see you, Claude. Outside of the rink, I mean.’

Danny had been a healthy scratch for both games against the Flyers this season, but he’d been in the press box for both, still being that veteran presence a man only ten years his senior was preaching.

‘Yeah,’ Claude says. ‘Uh. It would be good to see you.’ He pauses, and then says, so fast it’s almost one word, ‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you too,’ Danny says. The words come easily.

‘You’re really coming home?’ Claude asks.

Danny feels the smile spread across his face. ‘Yeah, Claude. I’m coming home.’

 


End file.
